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THE  OLD   GARDEN,   AND  OTHER  VERSES. 
Enlarged  Edition.     i6mo,  gilt  top,  $1.25. 

JOHN  WARD,   PREACHER.     A  Novel.     i2mo, 
$1.50. 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


THE  OLD  GARDEN 

AND   OTHER  VERSES 


MARGARET   DELAND 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 


1890 


Copyright,  1887, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


TENTH   EDITION. 


Tht  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


Co  lucp 


Sweet,  every  rhyme  here  writ 

Is  yours,  not  mine  ; 
Your  heart  did  dictate  it, 

Mine  -wrote  the  line  ! 
So,  then,  to  you,  whose  wit 

Did  make  each  song, 
My  heart  and  book,  V  is  fit 

Should  both  belong! 


BOSTON,  August,  1886. 


Put  all  tbyfaitb  in  Time, 

Nor  trust  in  me; 
Grant  Life,  and  Love,  and  Rhyme, 

Eternity! 


CONTENTS. 

THE   OLD   GARDEN. 

PACK 

THE  OLD  GARDEN 3 

THE  SUCCORY 10 

BUTTER  AND  EGGS n 

THE  PANSY 12 

THE  MYRTLE 13 

THE  MORNING-GLORY 14 

THE  SWEET-PEA 15 

THE  ROSEMARY 16 

THE  CLOVER 17 

THE  YELLOW  DAISY 18 

THE  BLUE-BELL 19 

THE  QUAKER  LADY 20 

THE  MIGNONETTE 21 

NATURE. 

AFFAIRE  D'AMOUR 25 

MAY 27 

THE  WILD  ROSE 29 

JUNE .        -30 

AUGUST  WIND 32 

SUNRISE  ON  CRAG  MOUNTAIN       .       .        .        -33 

HEPATICA 35 

THE  GOLDEN  ROD 37 

STUDIES  FOR  PICTURES 38 

THE  NIGHT  MIST .41 

BLOODROOT  BLOSSOMS 42 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

SPRING'S  BEACON 43 

SUMMER 44 

LOVE  SONGS. 

To  THEE 49 

ON  BEING  ASKED  BY  PHYLLIS  FOR  A  PICTURE  OF 

LOVE 50 

THE  DEATH  OF  LOVE 51 

To  JEALOUSIE 53 

Is  IT  ? 54 

To  A  PANSY 56 

HINC  ILL^E  LACRIM^E 57 

A  LOVER  TO  HIS  MISTRESS         ....  59 

ARRIERE  PENSEE 60 

UNCERTAINTY 62 

MANY  WATERS  CANNOT  QUENCH  LOVE         .        .  63 
ON  PRESENTING  A  SCENTLESS  ROSE  TO  A  YOUNG 

GENTLEWOMAN 65 

LOVE  AND  DEATH 66 

LOVE'S  WISDOM 67 

Two  LOVERS 68 

INCONSTANCY 70 

LINES  TO  A  VERY  SHY  YOUNG  WOMAN    .       .  71 

LOVE'S  COUP  D'£TAT 72 

SENT  WITH  A  ROSE  TO  A  YOUNG  LADY    .        .  74 
ON  BEING  REPROACHED  BY  MY  LOVE  FOR  CoLD- 

NESS 75 

VERSES 77 

POEMS   OF   LIFE. 

LIFE 81 

DEATH 83 

DOUBT 84 

As  ONE  WHO  WATCHETH  FOR  THE  MORNING      .  86 
WHEN  LOVE  AND  SORROW  MEET  .       .       .       .87 


CONTENTS.  ix 

ON  A  CHILD'S  GRAVE  IN  DORCHESTER  BURYING- 

GROUND 89 

EASTER  Music 90 

To  THE  CHILD  OF  THE  SISTINE  MADONNA      .  91 
THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  LILIES        .        .       .       .92 

HYMN 93 

To  E.  W.  W :        .        .        .  95 

VERSES   FOR   CHILDREN. 

THE  BIRD  AND  THE  BUTTERFLY   ....    99 
WHILE  SHEPHERDS  WATCHED  THEIR  FLOCKS  BY 

NIGHT 102 

BOSSY  AND  THE  DAISY IO4 

THE  DANCE  OF  THE  FAIRIES         ....  105 

THE  FAIRIES'  SHOPPING 107 

THE  BUTTERCUP no 

NIGHT .       .       .in 

POLLY 113 

THE  WAITS 114 


THE  OLD   GARDEN. 

OLD  gray  house,  whose  broken  case- 
ments stare 
Like  sad,  dim  eyes,  at  the  retreating 

years, 

Once  more"  I  see  thee,  but  forlorn  and  bare, 
And  desolate  of  human  hopes  and  fears. 
Sagging  on  rusty  hinges  hang  thy  doors, 
And  in  thy  empty  rooms  no  sound  is  heard 
Save  only  when  upon  the  echoing  floors 
Last  autumn's  drifted  leaves  are  faintly  stirred. 
Braiding  the  darkness  of  the  wide,  bare  hall, 
The  flick'ring  sunshine  softly  comes  and  goes, 
And  'gainst  the  broken  plaster  of  the  wall 
Is  blown  the  shadow  of  a  climbing  rose. 
Oh,  none  but  Silence  and  the  Past,  to  greet 
The  weary  heart  that  on  the  threshold  stands, 
Only  the  wind  to  answer  eager  feet, 
And   only   shades   to   touch   the  outstretched 

hands ! 

The  house  is  but  poor  Love's  neglected  grave, 
While  young  and  glad  and  bright  with  sum- 
mer's glow, 


4  THE   OLD   GARDEN. 

Like  strange  sweet  spray  upon  Time's  beating 

wave, 
Against  its  grief  the  happy  flowers  grow. 

Closed  on  three  sides  by  crumbling  walls  of 

brick, 

All  spotted  by  slow-creeping  lichen  stains, 
And  nearly  hid  by  ivy,  matted  thick, 
And  dim  with  clinging  mists  of  years  of  rains, 
The  Garden  lies. 

Peaceful  as  upland  farm 
That  from  all  noise  and  tumult  stands  apart, 
Yet  round  it  is  the  street,  a  restless  arm 
That  clasps  the  country  to  the  city's  heart ; 
All  day,  outside  the  mildewed  walls  does  beat 
The  roar  of  traffic  and  the  factory's  din, 
The  endless  tramp  of  tired,  busy  feet, 
Or  roll  of  funeral  car,  or  laugh  of  sin.  — 
Only  the  wall  between  this  rush  of  life 
And  the  deep  quiet  of  the  Garden  old, 
But  yet  as  separate  as  peace  and  strife, 
Or  June's   sweet   sunshine   from   December's 

cold. 

When  all  outside  is  vexed  by  summer  rains, 
Whose  dash  and  rush  will  bend  the  stateliest 

rose, 
And   blur   the    street   with    dull    and  tearful 

stains, 
The  freshened  Garden  but  the  brighter  glows ; 


THE   OLD   GARDEN.  5 

The  swaying  flowers  lift  their  sweet,  wet  eyes, 
And  burst  of  perfume  fills  the  shining  air, 
The  drenched  and  dreary  street  feels  vague 

surprise 

At  the  strange  fragrance  overflowing  there. 
It  is  as  though  some  wind  of  memory  blew 
Across  the  fields  where  earth  was  freshly 

ploughed, 

Or  over  pastures,  dim  with  early  dew, 
Or  down  from  hilltops  hid  in  wreaths  of  cloud. 
Again  the  drifting  shadows  wheel  and  pass 
Across  the  roof  of  some  far  cottage  home 
Set  where  the  waves  of  golden  meadow-grass 
Break  with  white  ripples  into  daisy  foam. 
O  long  dead  Past !    O  pang  of  strange  regret  — 
O  crimson  roses  bending  in  the  rain  — 
Alas  for  hearts  that  may  not  e'en  forget, 
And  yet  would  not  go  back  to  thee  again  ! 

Inside  the  walls,  the  tall  ailanthus'  shade 
Is  tangled  in  the  meshes  of  the  grass, 
Or  flecks  the  path,  whose  mossy  flags  were  laid 
For  childish  feet,  long  since  grown  old,  to  pass  ; 
Between  the  stones,  the  scarlet  pimpernel 
Finds  room  to  spread  its  thread-like  roots  and 

grow ; 

And  all  self-sown,  the  portulaca's  bell 
Lights  up  the  ground  with  tender,  rosy  glow. 
The  walks  are  hedged  with  dusky  green  of  box, 
That  once  enclosed   long   borders,   trim   and 

neat  ] 


6  THE   OLD    GARDEN. 

Within   them   stood   great    clumps   of    snowy 

phlox, 
That  shone   at   dusk,  and   grew   more  deeply 

sweet. 

But  now  the  phlox  wild  morning-glories  seek, 
Whose  silky  blossoms  rove  the  Garden  through, 
And  press  pure  faces  'gainst  the  thistle's  cheek, 
Or  star-like  gleam  amid  the  grass  and  dew  — 
A  thousand  pushing  weeds  the  borders  hold, 
And  standing  with  them,  wild  and  rank  as  they, 
Are  tender  blossoms,  now  grown  over-bold, 
And  careless  of  the  Garden's  slow  decay. 
Oh,  far  away,  in  some  serener  air, 
The   eyes   that  loved    them   see    a    heavenly 

dawn  : 

How  can  they  bloom  without  her  tender  care  ? 
Why  should  they  live,  when  her  sweet  life  is 

gone? 

Still  from  the  far-off  pastures  comes  the  bee, 

And  swings  all  day  inside  the  hollyhock, 

Or  steals  her  honey  from  the  winged  sweet- 
pea, 

Or  the  striped  glory  of  the  four-o'clock ; 

The  pale  sweet-william,  ringed  with  pink  and 
white, 

Grows  yet  within  the  damp  shade  of  the  wall ; 

A.nd  there  the  primrose  stands,  that  as  the 
night 

Begins  to  gather,  and  the  dews  to  fall, 


THE   OLD   GARDEN.  / 

Flings  wide  to  circling  moths  her  twisted  buds, 
That  shine  like  yellow  moons  with  pale,  cold 

glow, 

And  all  the  air  her  heavy  fragrance  floods, 
And  gives  largess  to  any  winds  that  blow. 

Here,  in  warm  darkness  of  a  night  in  June, 
While  rhythmic  pulses  of  the  factory's  flame 
Lighted  with  sudden  flare  of  red  the  gloom, 
And  deepened  long  black  shadows,   children 

came 
To  watch  the  primrose  blow  ! 

Silent  they  stood, 
Hand   clasped   in   hand,    in    breathless   hush 

around, 

And  saw  her  shyly  doff  her  soft  green  hood 
And  blossom  —  with  a  silken  burst  of  sound  ! 

Once  more  I  listen  for  the  trembling  chime 
From  purple-throated  Canterbury  bell ; 
For  surely,  in  that  far-off  golden  time, 
Strange  fragrant  music  from  it  softly  fell. 
Beneath  the  lilacs,  on  whose  heart-shaped  leaves 
The  dust  has  settled  and  white  stains  of  mould, 
The  money-vine  with  clinging  myrtle  weaves 
A  thick  dark  carpet,  starred  with  blue  and  gold. 
A  wedge  of  vivid  blue  the  larkspur  shines 
From  out  the  thorny  heart  of  the  sweetbrier, 
And  at  its  side  are  velvet  brandy-wines, 
Shadowed  by  honeysuckles'  fringe  of  fire. 


3  THE   OLD   GARDEN. 

On  the  long  grass,  where  still  the  drops  of  dew 
Are  threaded  like  a  necklace  for  the  dawn, 
The  flaming  poppies  their  soft  petals  strew, 
Then  stand  and  shiver,  all  their  brav'ry  gone. 
Each  crumpled,  crepe-like  leaf  is  soft  as  silk ; 
Long,  long  ago  the  children  saw  them  there, 
Scarlet  and  rose,  with  fringes  white  as  milk, 
And   called   them   "shawls  for   fairies'   dainty 

wear !  " 

They  were  not  finer,  those  laid  safe  away 
In  that  low  attic,  'neath  the  brown,  warm  eaves, 
Where  yellow  sunshine  on  the  rafters  lay, 
Or  danced  with  shadows  of  the  outside  leaves  — 
The  scent  of  cedarn  chest  in  each  soft  fold, 
And  ling'ring  sweetness  of  dried  lavender, 
Or  pale  pressed  rose  leaves. 

Still  the  grapevines  hold 

The  leaning  arbor,  where  the  leaves  scarce  stir, 
In  cool  green  darkness  that  shuts  out  the  sky ; 
For,  if  a  sunbeam  wandered  there,  't  was  lost, 
Or  flitted  like  a  golden  butterfly 
Across  the  ceiling  that  the  fruit  embossed. 
'Neath  it  the  path  was  worn  and  mossy  green, 
And  here,  on  long,  still,  Sunday  afternoons, 
The  Garden  hidden  by  the  leafy  screen, 
A  child  would  walk,  crooning  to  low,  strange 

tunes, 

Pier  catechism,  or  the  evening  hymn  ; 
But  ever  gazing  with  a  wistful  eye, 


THE   OLD    GARDEN.  9 

From  out  the  quiet  of  the  arbor  dim, 
At  the  bright  Garden,  Sunday  did  deny. 
The  house  is  empty  of  the  old,  sweet  life  ; 
The  outside  world  long  since  has  claimed  the 

child, 

And  gone  forever  from  its  bitter  strife 
The  gentle  face  that  always  on  her  smiled. 
Yet,  though  untended,  still  the  Garden  glows, 
And  'gainst  its  walls  the  city's  heart  still  beats, 
And  out  from  it  each  summer  wind  that  blows 
Carries  some  sweetness  to  the  tired  streets  ! 


10 


THE  SUCCORY. 


THE   SUCCORY. 

H,  not  in  ladies'  gardens, 
My  peasant  Posy  ! 
Smile  thy  dear,  blue  eyes, 
Nor  only  —  nearer  to  the  skies  — 
In  upland  pastures,  dim  and  sweet, 
But  by  the  dusty  road 
Where  tired  feet 
Toil  to  and  fro ; 
Where  flaunting  Sin 
May  see  thy  heavenly  hue, 
Or  weary  Sorrow  look  from  thee 
Toward  a  tenderer  blue  ! 


"BUTTER  AND  EGGS." 


II 


"BUTTER  AND   EGGS." 

N  orange  cap  and  yellow  skirt 
She  stands —  this  arrant  farmer  flirt ! 
She  knows  the  thoughts  he  dare  not 

utter, 
The  while  he  buys  her  eggs  and  butter. 

He  knows  his  fate  ! 
And  yet  this  silly  lover  begs, 
"  Oh,  will  you  sell 
A  kiss,  as  well 
As  butter  and  eggs  ?  " 


12 


THE  PANSY. 


THE  PANSY. 

DAINTY  Pansy !  hooded  all  in  blue, 
With  chastely  folding  cloak  of  green, 
A  maid  whom  Eros  never  knew, 
Nor  Love  has  seen ! 

I  yet  must  fancy,  scarce  dreamt  by  thee, 
That  'neath  thy  most  discreetest  thought 
There  lurks  a  will  which  may  be  taught, 
By  Love  —  and  me ! 


THE  MYRTLE.  13 


THE  MYRTLE. 

N.   W.   C. 

TS  clinging,  mournful  leaves,  I  said, 

Seem  made  to  thatch  a  grave, 
Around  the  roots  of  cypress-trees, 
Too  deep  in  gloom  for  sun  or  breeze, 
It  lives  to  mourn  the  dead. 

But  when  I  kissed  her  name,  I  saw, 

Above  the  dear,  dead  maid, 
A  starry  flower  of  tender  blue, 
A  bit  of  heaven,  shining  through 

The  leaves  upon  her  grave  ! 


THE  MORNING-GLORY. 


THE   MORNING-GLORY. 

MAID! 

I  pray  thee  light, 
Both  noon  and  night ; 
The  envious  dawn 
Thou  lookest  on 
Is  too  soon  gone  ; 
Then  stay 
The  day, 
I  pray ! 


THE  SWEET-PEA.  15 


THE   SWEET-PEA. 

H  restlessly 
The  gay  Sweet-pea 
Nods  on  her  slender  stem  ; 


For  far  up  in  the  sunny  skies 
She  sees  the  sailing  butterflies, 
And  longs  to  go  to  them. 

For  why  should  they 
Be  first  to  say, 

"  We  love  thee,  pretty  maid  "  — 
Why  for  their  coming  must  she  wait, 
Nor  speak  of  love  till  they  dictate, 

Though  Time  her  wings  should  fade  ? 

She  wonders  why 
She  must  not  fly, 

Her  warm  heart's  love  to  say  — 
Her  pink  and  white  and  scarlet  wings 
Were  surely  made  for  better  things 

Than  thus  at  home  to  stay ! 


i6 


THE  ROSEMARY. 


THE   ROSEMARY. 

Y  sweet  maid  Rosemary  — 

(Her  gown  it  is  so  plain, 
E'en  Vanity, 
Dressed  thus,  could  not  be  vain  !) 
Doth  preach  to  me, 
When  this  my  life  doth  seem 
All  small  and  mean, 
And  full  of  briers  to  be ; 

For  in  the  rain  or  sun, 
Cloaked  all  in  modest  gray, 

This  garden  nun 

Doth  stand  as  though  to  pray. 

Content,  she  never  heeds 

If  flaunting  Poppy  scorns, 
Nor  marks  that  weeds 

Do  tear  her  gown  with  thorns  ; 
She  tells  her  beads, 

And  lives  her  life  with  joy, 

Her  one  employ, 
To  fill  some  small,  sweet  needs ! 


THE     CLOVER. 


THE  CLOVER. 

RUDDY  Lover  — 
O  brave  red  Clover ! 

Didst  think  to  win  her 
Thou  dost  adore  ? 

She  will  not  love  thee, 
She  looks  above  thee, 
The  Daisy's  gold  doth  move  her  more. 
If  gold  can  win  her, 
Then  Love 's  not  in  her ; 
So  leave  the  Sinner, 
And  sigh  no  more ! 


1 8  THE    YELLOW  DAISY. 


THE  YELLOW   DAISY. 

PHAT  'S  his  heart  — 

Sweetheart ! 
What 's  his  heart  ? 
Very  often  I  've  been  told 
Of  his  yellow,  shining  gold  ; 
But  the  gold  's  the  smallest  part 
Of  a  happy  love, 
Sweetheart ! 

Is  it  true, 

My  dear, 
Is  it  true, 

That  his  heart 's  a  rusty  brown  ? 
Nay,  my  Sweetheart  !  do  not  frown ; 
Better  know  it 's  brown  and  sere, 
Now,  than  when  too  late, 
My  dear ! 


V 


THE  BLUEBELL. 


THE  BLUEBELL. 

N  love  she  fell, 
My  shy  Bluebell, 

With  a  strolling  Bumble-bee  ; 
He  whispered  low, 
"  I  love  you  so  ! 

Sweet,  give  your  heart  to  me  — 

"  I  love  but  you, 
And  I  '11  be  true, 

O  give  me  your  heart,  I  pray  !  " 
She  bent  her  head,  — 
"  I  will !  "  she  said, 

When,  lo !  he  flew  away. 


20  THE   QUAKER  LADY. 


THE  QUAKER  LADY. 

(HOUSTONIA  C^ERULEA.) 

THIS  quaint  and  quiet  Quaker, 
Bended  head  would  never  make  her 
More  discreet,  or  modester  : 
But  the  Gallants  pass  her  by, 
For  with  tender,  steadfast  eye, 
Straight  she  looks  up  at  the  sky ! 

Surely  now,  some  brighter  hues, 

'Stead  of  lavenders  and  blues, 

Would  delight  some  jolly  fellow,  — 
Russet  Bee,  with  bands  of  yellow, 

Or  a  sailing  Butterfly 

At  her  feet  would  love  and  sigh, 
Or  a  glow-worm  trim  his  lamp 
When  the  dusk  falls,  cold  and  damp, 

That  its  glimmering  light  may  say, 

"  Dear,  I  love  thee,  Night  or  Day !  " 
But  to  talk  's  no  use,  I  know, 
Still  in  sober  dress  she  '11  go, 
And  her  love  of  heaven  will  show ; 

So,  my  Quaker  Lady  sweet, 

Living  in  her  dim  retreat, 

Sees  no  lover  at  her  feet ! 


THE  MIGNONETTE.  21 


THE  MIGNONETTE. 

DAME  of  high  degree 

Is  she, 

The  gentle  Mignonette  - 
And  at  her  side, 
In  honest  pride, 

Stands  my  sweet  Bouncing  Bet. 

Her  kerchief  folded  neat, 

And  sweet, 
Her  bodice  rosy-red ; 

My  heart  she  holds 

In  its  soft  folds, 
And  yet — we  do  not  wed  ! 

For  once  I  raised  mine  eye 

Too  high  — 
I  loved  fair  Mignonette ! 

She  never  knew, 

She  thought  me  true 
To  humble  Bouncing  Bet. 

Sweet  hopeless  Love,  if  wise, 
Soon  dies, 


22  THE  MIGNONETTE. 

And,  "Here  's  a  maid,"  I  said ; 
"  She  's  lowly  fair, 
And  waits,  —  I  swear,"  — 

And  yet  —  I  do  not  wed  ! 


jijatttre 
9 


AFFAIRE  D'AMOUR. 


FOR    E.    W.    W. 

NE  pale  November  day, 
Flying  Summer  paused, 

They  say : 
And  growing  bolder, 
O'er  rosy  shoulder 

Threw  to  her  Lover  such  a  glance, 
That  Autumn's  heart  began  to  dance. 
(O  happy  Lover !) 

A  leafless  Peach-tree  bold 
Thought  for  him  she  smiled, 

I  'm  told ; 

And,  stirred  by  love, 
His  sleeping  sap  did  move, 
Decking  each  naked  branch  with  green 
To  show  her  that  her  look  was  seen ! 
(Alas  !  poor  Lover !) 

But  Summer,  laughing,  fled, 
Nor  knew  he  loved  her  1 


26  AFFAIRE  D' AMOUR. 

T  is  said 

The  Peach-tree  sighed, 
And  soon  he  gladly  died  : 
And  Autumn,  weary  of  the  chase, 
Came  on  at  Winter's  sober  pace. 
(O  careless  Lover !) 


MAY. 


MAY. 

IKE  drifts  of  tardy  snow 

On  leafless  branches  caught, 
The  cherry-blossoms  blow 
That  May  has  brought. 


On  banks  which  face  the  sun, 

Still  shy  in  pretty  doubt, 
White  violets  have  begun 
To  look  about ; 

The  fresh  winds  gayly  bring 

The  orchards'  faint  perfume, 
And  purple  lilacs  swing 

Their  feathery  bloom  1 

Along  the  meadow's  edge 

New  grass  has  just  been  seen, 
And  on  the  hawthorn  hedge 

Rose  hides  the  green. 

Sunshine  lies  warm  and  still : 

Cloud  shadows  idly  drift : 
Light  cups,  for  dews  to  fill, 
Wind-flowers  lift ; 


-8  MAY. 

Oh,  sweet,  fresh  world,  and  young ! 

A  bluebird  flashes  by, 
And  singing  joy  is  flung 

Through  all  the  sky  ! 


THE    WILD  ROSE. 


THE  WILD   ROSE. 

[INGE  on  my  suit,  alas  ! 

My  Lady  dear  doth  frown, 
I  lay  where  she  may  pass, 
A  wild  Rose  down. 


But  first,  lest  it  should  grieve 

Thus  to  be  laid  so  low, 
Into  its  heart  I  breathe 

All  my  heart's  woe  : 

"Her  nature  is  so  sweet, 
(Save  only  unto  me  !) 
Even  her  little  feet 

Will  not  wound  thee  ; 

"  Where  thine  own  color  glows, 
Warm  on  her  dainty  cheek, 
She  '11  lift  thee,  happy  Rose  ! 

Then,  dear  Rose,  Speak ! 

"  My  intercessor  be, 

And  in  her  tiny  ear 
Whisper  — '  He  loveth  thee, 

Who  sent  me,  dear  ! ' " 


30  JUNE. 


JUNE. 

iPON  the  breast  of  smiling  June 

Roses  and  lilies  lie, 
And  round  her  yet  is  faint  perfume 
Of  violets,  just  gone  by ; 

Green  is  her  gown,  with  'broidery 

Of  blossoming  meadow  grass, 
That  ripples  like  a  flowing  sea 

When  winds  and  shadows  pass. 

Her  breast  is  belted  by  the  blue 

Of  succory,  like  the  sky, 
And  purple  heart's-ease  clasp  her  too, 

And  larkspur  growing  high  ; 

Laced  is  her  bodice  green  with  vines, 

And  dew  the  sun  has  kissed, 
Jewels  her  scarf  that  faintly  shines, 

In  folds  of  morning  mist ! 

The  buttercups  are  fringes  fair 

Around  her  small  white  feet, 
And  on  the  radiance  of  her  hair 

Fall  cherry-blossoms  sweet ; 


JUNE.  3 1 

The  dark  laburnum's  chains  of  gold 

She  twists  about  her  throat : 
Perched  on  her  shoulder,  blithe  and  bold, 

The  brown  thrush  sounds  his  note  ! 

And  blue  of  the  far  dappled  sky 
That  shows  at  warm,  still  noon, 

Shines  in  her  softly  smiling  eye  — 
Oh  !  who  's  so  sweet  as  June  ? 


32  AUGUST  WIND. 


AUGUST  WIND. 

JjHE  sharp  wind  cut  a  pathway  through 

the  cloud, 
And   left   a  track  of   faintly   shining 

blue; 

The  nunlike  poplars  swayed  and  bowed, 
And  low  the  swallows  flew  ! 

The  sudden  dust  whirled  up  the  stony  road, 

And  blurred  the  brightness  of  the  golden- 
rod; 

The  ripening  milk-weed  bent,  and  sowed 
Winged  seeds  at  every  nod ; 

Backward  the  maple  tossed  her  feathery  crown, 
Then  flung  her  branches  on  the  streaming 
air; 

The  brittle  oak-leaves,  dry  and  brown, 
Rustled  with  break  and  tear ! 

Each  wayside  weed  was  twisted  like  a  thread ; 

Then,  suddenly,  far  up  the  pasture  hill, 
Quick  as  it  came  the  gust  had  fled, 

And  all  the  fields  were  still. 


SUNRISE  ON  CRAG  MOUNTAIN.        33 


SUNRISE   ON   CRAG   MOUNTAIN. 

FAINTLY  shimmering  pearl  is  set 
Upon  the  dusky  breast  of  Night, 
And  gleams  with  cold  translucent  light 
Behind  the  hills  in  darkness  yet. 

The  mountains  lift  bare  brows  to  greet 
The  silent  coming  of  the  day, 
But  Night  is  yet  content  to  stay 

Where  shadows  fold  about  their  feet. 

Fading,  the  morning  star  has  gone 
Back,  back  into  the  far,  still  sky ; 
Gray  mists  in  all  the  valleys  lie  ; 

The  darkness  blossoms  into  dawn. 

Slowly  a  pale,  clear  yellow  grows 

Around  the  waiting  world's  black  rim ; 
And  stretching  dusk  at  first,  and  dim, 

Small,  rippling  clouds  are  flushed  with  rose. 

No  sound  except  the  rustling  grass  : 
The  crystal  air  is  cold  and  sweet : 
The  morning  winds  on  unseen  feet 

Over  the  hilltops  lightly  pass. 


34        SUNRISE  ON  CRAG  MOUNTAIN. 

Wind-wakened  flowers,  half  uncurled, 
Turn  to  the  East  their  eager  eyes  ; 
A  pulsing  gold  spreads  through  the  skies  — 

Silence  wraps  all  the  breathless  world. 

One  moment  yet  the  birds  are  dumb  — 

Then,  burst  of  song !  then,  flood  of  light ! 
Day  leaps  from  out  the  arms  of  Night  — 

The  sun  springs  up,  the  Life  has  come ! 


HEPATIC  A.  35 


HEPATICA. 

PRETTY,  modest  maid 
Who  still  is  half  afraid 

Of  chilly  winter  weather, 
But  yet  is  all  too  shy 
To  boldly  search  the  sky, 

To  see  if  storm-clouds  gather. 

So,  in  some  dim,  still  place, 
Has  hid  her  small,  sweet  face, 

And  let  dead  leaves  drift  round  her ; 
And  bent  her  head  so  low, 
Not  softest  winds  that  blow, 

Nor  sunshine,  scarce  have  found  her ; 

She  wears  a  hood  of  green, 
(So  fears  she  to  be  seen,) 

And  folds  about  her  neatly, 
A  simple  russet  gown 
Of  furry  leaves  and  brown, 

That  hides  her  form  completely  ; 

Will  she  thus  live  and  fade, 
Poor,  pretty,  modest  maid  ! 
If  she  her  beauty  covers  ? 


36  HEPATIC  A. 

Nay,  for  though  other  eyes 
Note  not  where  low  she  lies, 
She  can't  escape  her  Lover's  ! 

He  '11  search  the  damp  woods  through 
To  find  the  tender  blue 

Of  her  eyes,  shyly  smiling, 
Nor  heed  the  wet  and  cold, 
Where  dead  leaves  drift  and  fold, 

Her  look  is  so  beguiling  ! 


THE   GOLDEN-ROD.  37 


THE  GOLDEN-ROD. 

ROD  of  gold  1 

O  swaying  sceptre  of  the  year  — 

Now  frost  and  cold 
Show  Winter  near, 
And  shivering  leaves  grow  brown  and  sere. 

The  bleak  hillside, 
And  marshy  waste  of  yellow  reeds, 

And  meadows  wide 
Where  frosted  weeds 
Shake  on  the  damp  wind  light-winged  seeds, 

Are  decked  with  thee,  — 
The  lingering  Summer's  latest  grace, 

And  sovereignty. 
Each  wind-swept  space 
Waves  thy  red  gold  in  Winter's  face  — 

He  strives  each  star, 
In  stormy  pride  to  lay  full  low ; 

But  when  thy  bar 
Resists  his  blow, 
Will  crown  thee  with  a  puff  of  snow  ! 


38  STUDIES  FOR  PICTURES. 


STUDIES   FOR   PICTURES. 


LONELY  lake  lies  far  among  the  hills 
Whose  northern  sides  are  dark  with 

whispering  pines  j 

Fed  from  their  breasts  by  dancing,  dappled  rills, 

For  them  alone  it  softly  smiles  and  shines. 

No  man  has  pushed  the  circling  leafage  back, 
Or  stirred  the  laurels,  rimmed  with  drops  of 
dew, 

To  gaze  where  boat  has  never  left  its  track 
Like  twist  of  silver  on  the  shimmering  blue. 

At  the  quick  touch  of  sudden,  wandering  breeze, 
Its  scudding  ripples  spread  o'er  sandy  bars  ; 

And  as  the  waves  the  slanting  sunbeams  seize, 
The  water  blossoms  with  a  thousand  stars  ! 

The  panting  deer  may  cool  his  soft,  shy  lip, 

And  trouble  with  his  bubbling  breath  its  rest ; 
Or  strong,  straight  flight  of  some  wild  wing  may 

dip, 

And    cut   with   flash   of   light   its   gleaming 
breast. 


STUDIES  FOR  PICTURES.  39 

With  sharp,  green  spears,  the  reeds  and  grasses 

pierce 

The  still  dark  water  'neath  o'erhanging  trees, 
As   though  some    Pharaoh's   army,    wild   and 

fierce, 
Were  buried,  marching,  as  in  Egypt's  seas  1 

Over  its  heart  it  folds  a  scarf  of  lace,  — 

Faint-imaged  clouds  that  stretch  across  the 
sky,— 

And,  like  white  jewels  fastening  it  in  place, 
The  trembling-hearted  water-lilies  lie. 

It  braids  the  moonbeams  on  a  summer  night, 
Or,  while  low  laughter  all  its  bosom  fills, 

Its  ripples  chase  the  west  wind's  sunny  flight, 
And  kiss  the  feet  of  its  grave,  guarding  hills  ! 


ir. 

Like  heavy  stream  of  slow,  scarce-moving  oil, 
On  open  flats  the  dim,  still  river  lies ; 

No  skimming  ripple,  and  no  whirling  coil 
Of  dimpling  eddy,  stirs  its  mirrored  skies  ; 

No  bending  grasses  on  the  sandy  shore 

Reach   their  long  fingers  down  to  dip  and 
lave  ; 

And  all  unmarked  the  river's  even  floor 
By  hidden  pebbles'  softly  slipping  wave. 


40  STUDIES  FOR  PICTURES. 

A  fine,  still  haze  holds  all  the  brown,  warm  land, 
And   hides   the   line    where    sky   and   river 
meet,  — 

Yellow  and  dim  upon  the  yellow  sand, 

And  faintly  gold  on  fields  of  ripened  wheat. 

A  blur  of  color  shows  where  poppies  bloom ; 

A  line  of  shadow  marks  tall  poplar-trees, 
Standing  like  ghosts  against  the  yellow  gloom, 

Unstirred  by  any  lightly  blowing  breeze. 

Faint  through  the  silence  of  the  mellow  haze 
Is  heard  the  lingering  splash  of  some  slow 
oar; 

A  boat,  for  one  vague,  floating  moment,  stays, 
Seen  like  a  dream  against  the  misty  shore. 

Slow,  with  the  unseen  current,  drifts  the  boat,  — 
The  trembling  water  laps  the  level  sands,  — 

And  guiding  it,  a  boy,  with  bronze,  bare  throat, 
Clings  to  his  slender  pole,  with  sunburned 
hands. 


THE  NIGHT  MIST. 


THE   NIGHT    MIST. 

IjLL  the  night  long,  the  gray  embracing 

mist 
Has   held   in   tender  arms   the   tired 

world ; 

The  sleepy  river  its  soft  lips  have  kissed, 
And  over  hills  and  meadows  it  has  curled. 

Its  white  cool  ringer  it  has  gently  placed 
On  weary  stretches  of  the  desert  sand  ; 

The  noisy  city,  and  the  far-off  waste, 
Have  felt  the  benediction  of  its  hand. 

The  drowsy  world  rolls  slowly  toward  the  day  : 
The  fresh  sweet  wind  of  morning  softly  blows  : 

The  willing  mist  no  longer  now  may  stay ; 
With  first  expectancy  of  dawn,  it  goes ! 


42  BLOODROOT  BLOSSOMS. 


BLOODROOT   BLOSSOMS. 

HEN"  shiv'ring  through  the  skies, 
Spring  sought  the  wintry  earth, 
She  saw  with  longing  eyes, 
The  gleaming  stars  arise 
To  light  her  chilly  path  ! 

She  might  not  wait  or  stay, 

To  pluck  them  for  a  crown, 
For  dim  and  far  away 
The  world  expectant  lay, 

And  she  must  hasten  down ; 

But  there,  for  necklace  bright 
With  soft  cold  hands  she  made, 

Some  stars,  all  snowy  white, 

Gleaming  like  those  of  night, 
And  on  her  young  breast  laid. 

So,  on  Spring's  bosom  cold, 

These  starry  blossoms  glow, 
Half  hid  by  many  a  fold 
Of  brown  leaves,  sere  and  old, 

And  sodden  by  past  snow  ! 


SPRING'S  BEACON. 


43 


SPRING'S  BEACON. 

HROUGH  the  misty  woodlands  bare, 
By  the  meadows  brown  and  dead, 

In  the  damp  and  chilly  air, 
Stand  the  maples  tipped  with  red ; 

They  are  flaring  signals  bright, 

Wav'ring  'gainst  the  dull,  cold  sky, 

Heralding  with  ruddy  light, 

That  the  cheerful  Spring  is  nigh. 

In  their  kindling,  flaming  boughs, 

Wooing  Robins  love  and  sing, 
Swearing  all  their  pretty  vows, 

"  By  the  Beacon  of  the  Spring  !  " 

Crimson  on  the  Robin's  breast, 

Crimson  on  the  growing  tree  — 
Life  and  Love  alike  are  drest, 

Love  and  Life  have  come  to  me ! 

Crimson  on  my  Love's  soft  cheeks 
Does  her  sweet,  shy  thought  confess, 

When  from  out  her  heart  she  speaks, 
To  my  heart  the  longed-for  —  "  Yes  I  " 


SUMMER. 


SUMMER. 

A    FRAGMENT. 

IGH  on    the  crest  of  the  blossoming 

grasses, 

Bending   and  swaying  with  face  to- 
ward the  sky, 

Stirred  by  the  lightest  west  wind  as  it  passes, 
Hosts  of  the  silver-white  daisy-stars  lie  ! 

I,  looking  up  through  the  mists  of  the  flowers, 
I,  lying  low  on  the  earth  thrilled  with  June, 

Give  not  a  thought  to  the  vanishing  hours, 
Save  that  they  melt  into  twilight  too  soon ! 

Blossoms  of  peaches  float  down  for  my  cover,  — 
Snow-flakes  that  blushed  to  be  kissed  by  the 

sun,  — 

Blossoms  of  apples  drift  over  and  over,  — 
White  they  with  grief  that  their  short  day  is 
done  ! 

Buttercup's  lanterns  are  lighted  about  me, 
Burly  red  clover's  warm  cheek  presses  mine  ; 

Powdery  Bee  never  once  seems  to  doubt  me, 
Tipping  each  chalice  for  Summer's  new  wine  ! 


SU AIMER.  45 

Tiny  white  butterflies  ("  Brides  "  children  name 
them) 

Flicker  and  glimmer,  and  turn  in  their  flight; 
Surely  the  sunshine  suffices  to  tame  them, 

Close  to  my  hand  they  will  swing  and  alight ! 

Small  timid  breezes,  than  butterflies  shyer, 
Just  for  a  moment  soft  buffet  my  face, 

Then  fly  away  to  the  tree-tops  and  higher, 
Shaking    do/vn    shadows   o'er  every   bright 
space. 


Lofce 


* 


TO   THEE. 

L.    F.    D. 

THOU  Beloved  !  in  whose  eyes  I  read 
A  ready  strength  to  meet  my  utmost 

need, 

I  ponder,  sometimes  (noting  thy  content 
With  this  small   life  of  mine,  which  thou  hast 

bent 

To  all  of  lofty  purpose  it  can  claim 
By  thine  uplifting  praise,  or  tender  blame), 
I  wonder,  sometimes,  hast  thou  ever  thought 
How  with  thyself  my  conscious  life  is  wrought  ? 
That  thou  the  centre  art,  the  clasp  and  stay 
Of  Past,  and  Future,  and  the  glad  To-day ! 
As  dim  horizon  binds  a  shoreless  sea, 
My  widening  life  is  bound  and  arched  by  thee  ; 
And,    lighting   all    this  heaven  that  holds  my 

heart, 
Gladness,  and  joy,  and  warmth,  and  sun,  thou 

art! 


50  A   PICTUKE   OF  LOVE. 


ON  BEING   ASKED   BY   PHYLLIS   FOR 
A   PICTURE   OF   LOVE. 

RAY  are  Love's  gentle  eyes, 

And  in  them  stay 
Sweet  thoughts,  and  wise : 
This  sure  no  one  denies, 
For  Phyllis'  eyes  are  gray. 

Red  is  Love's  mouth,  as  though 

On  roses  fed  : 
This  do  I  know, 
Since  Phyllis'  lips  do  show 

A  like  sweet  damask-red. 

Brown  is  Love's  hair,  and  bright, 

And  soft  as  down, 
And  curling  light 
Around  a  forehead  white, 

And  Phyllis'  hair  is  brown. 

Sweet  is  true  Love,  but  shy 

As  a  young  dove 
Just  taught  to  fly  — 
All  this  right  well  know  I, 

For  Phyllis  is  my  Love  1 


THE  DEATH  OF  LOVE. 


THE  DEATH   OF  LOVE. 

ONCE  my  friend,  and  dear !  I  gaze  at 

you 

Through  mists  of  smarting  tears, 
For  the  relentless  years 
Stand  with  averted  eyes  between  us  two. 

Useless  for  me  to  clasp  your  hand  in  mine, 
Groping  through  doubt  and  pain 
To  find  our  Love  again, 

Our  dear,  dead  love,  which  died  and  made  no 
sign. 

Alas  !  that  Love  should  die, 

All,  all  unknown, 
Unhonored  by  a  sigh, 

And  all  alone. 

Poor  Love  !  once  ruddy  strong, 

None,  none  so  true, 
To  you  did  Life  belong, 

And  we  to  you. 

Let  no  weak  words  be  said, 

Sure,  sure  Y  is  vain  ! 
They  cannot  bring  the  dead 

Whom  we  have  slain. 


52  THE  DEATH  OF  LOVE. 

Useless  for  us  old  tender  words  to  speak ; 
As  well  to  try  to  bring 
The  breath  of  vanished  Spring, 

Or  glory  of  a  rose,  long  dead,  to  seek. 

So  grant  poor  Love  a  decent  grave 

And  cereclothes,  too, 
And  deck  his  head  with  blossoms  brave, 

Dark  pansies,  mixed  with  rue  1 

But  carve  no  stone  to  mark  his  bed, 

Or  show  his  name; 
Enough  for  us  our  Love  is  dead, 

Why  tell  the  world  our  shame  ? 

Poor  murdered  Love  !  this  sharp  regret, 

This  grief,  is  well. 
But  shall  Grief  live,  or  we  forget  ? 

Alas  !  we  cannot  tell. 

Yes,  even  this  our  Grief,  which  takes  Love's 
throne, 

On  some  unconscious  day 

Unseen  may  slip  away, 
And  Self  be  left  in  full  content  alone. 

Poor  human  hearts,  not  great  enough  to  wear 

Remembrance  like  a  crown  : 

Glad  soon  to  lay  it  down  — 
Oh,  sharper  this,  than  grief  of  Death  to  bear ! 


TO  JEALOUSIE.  5$ 


TO  JEALOUSIE. 

JEALOUSIE  ! 

I  welcome  thee 
To  stab  my  patient  breast, 
For  such  a  guest 

Is  sure  some  day  to  prove 
To  her  my  gentle  love,  — 
How  great  my  love  must  be 
To  harbor  thee  ! 

But  that  my  pain 

Be  not  endured  in  vain, 

I  must  with  nicest  art 

Disclose  thy  dart, 
So  that  her  eye  may  see 
My  misery, 

And  her  most  tender  heart 

Be  moved  to  heal  thy  smart. 

For  this,  I  suffer  thee, 
O  Jealousie ! 


54  /-S"  IT? 


IS   IT? 

S  Love  eternal? 

Nay  !   I  do  not  know  — 
Is  that  eternal,  clear, 

Which  makes  Love  so  ? 
True  love  is  born  of  trust, 

Of  full  belief, 
But  trust  ends,  sometimes, 

In  a  deeper  grief. 
An  honest  pride 

In  all  its  loved  may  do, 
Is  part  of  Love, 

But  sometimes  strange  and  new, 
An  action  or  a  word  ! 

Then  for  its  life, 
True  Love  will  seek  to  find 

A  tender  sweetness 
In  the  loved  one's  mind  — 

How  then,  if,  'stead  of  that 
Which  is  its  life, 

Love  sees  with  Time, 
Strange  bitterness  and  strife  ? 

Patience  holds  Love  : 
A  patience  that  can  wait 

E'en  for  the  blossoming  aloe 


ss  IT?  55 

Of  its  fate  — 

Which  bears  a  passing  shadow 
In  Love's  eyes, 

Nay,  if  they  turn  from  it, 
Knows  no  surprise, 

Owning  its  own  unworth  ! 
Then,  if  Love's  heart 

Beats  only  while  it  trusts, 
And  finds  it  part 

In  tenderness, 
And  glows  with  pride, 

And  sees  sweet  patience 
Ever  at  its  side  — 

Then  Love  will  only  last 
As  long  as  they  — 

"  Is  Love  eternal  ?  " 
That 's  for  you  to  say  ! 


i 


56  TO  A  PANSY. 


TO  A  PANSY. 

"N  such  modest  wise  she  stands, 

My  sweet  purple  Pansy  flower ! 
That  she  all  my  heart  commands  - 
Prithee,  does  she  know  her  power  ? 

Tell  me,  does  she  look  so  shy, 

Just  to  make  me  love  her  so  ? 
If  she  does,  I  swear  that  I 

Half  her  charm  did  never  know ! 

For  such  strategies  avow 

That  within  her  heart  Love  stirs, 

And  perhaps  she  '11  welcome  now 
What,  unknown  to  her,  is  hers ! 


H1NC  ILL&  LACRIMM.  57 


HINC   ILIwE   LACRIM^E. 

NE  learned  in  Love's  Art 

Instructed  me ; 
Naught  moved  a  maiden's  heart 

Like  jealousy  — 

So,  when  from  Constance'  eyes  in  vain  I  sought 
To  win  a  kindlier  glance, 
I  looked  askance, 

Where,    at   her   'broidery   frame,    sweet   Cecil 
wrought. 

I  looked,  and  lo  !  mine  eyes 
Were  fastened  there  ; 
I  swore  such  Art  was  wise  — • 

(The  maid  was  fair  !) 

"  Why  should  I  turn,"  I  said,  "  to  Constance 
frown, 

Did  this  my  cunning  stir 
But  wrath  in  her  ?  " 
At  Cecil's  feet  I  laid  my  homage  down  ! 

But  mark  the  cruel  fate 

Which  pierced  my  heart  — 

She  said  I  'd  come  too  late ! 
I  cursed  the  Art  — 


58  H1NC  ILLAL  LACRIM&. 

For,  when  to  Constance  once  again  I  turned, 

Such  was  her  jealousy 

She  'd  none  of  me, 
And  all  my  proffered  love  she  lightly  spurned 


A   LOVER    TO  HIS  MISTRESS. 


59 


A  LOVER  TO   HIS   MISTRESS. 

URELY,  dear,  the  wild  brown  Bee, 

When  he  sees  your  ruddy  lip, 
Flutters  near  that  he  may  see 
If  it  blooms  for  him  to  sip  ! 

Sunbeams  of  the  dawning  day 

Note  your  curls'  soft  golden  gleam 

And  are  tangled  there,  and  stay, 
For  they  sister  sunbeams  seem; 

And  I  know  the  butterflies, 

Sailing  through  the  fragrant  air, 

Mark  the  heaven  of  your  eyes, 
And  must  long  to  enter  there ! 

And  the  wanton  wind  which  blows 

Soft  from  out  the  yellow  west, 
Stays  a  moment  to  repose 

On  the  whiteness  of  your  breast ;  — 

But  such  longing  fills  my  soul, 

When  mine  eyes  such  beauties  see, 

I  would  fain  possess  the  whole, 

Nor  would  share  with  Wind  or  Bee  1 


6O  ARRIERE  PENSEE. 


ARRIERE   PENSfiE. 

T  was  not  Love,  you  know, 

That  dream  of  ours  : 
No  doubt  we  thought  it  so, 
Catching  the  shine  and  glow 
From  sun  and  sky  and  flowers  ! 

"  /called  it  Love  !  "  you  say? 

What  if  I  did  ? 

The  words  but  matched  the  day, 
It  died,  and  so  should  they, 

None  surely  could  forbid  ; 

"  Love  never  dies,"  you  swear? 

"  Love  such  as  yours  ; " 
Well,  that  must  be  your  care, 
To  blame  me  is  not  fair, 

Because  your  pain  endures ; 

I  'm  really  sorry  I 

Should  seem  unkind  ! 
But  you  cannot  deny 
The  Summer  's  long  gone  by  ; 

'Twas  time  to  change  my  mind; 


ARRIERE  PENSEE. 

Indeed,  it 's  wiser,  far, 

To  take  my  view : 
Love  always  leaves  a  scar, 
We  're  better  as  we  are, 

riendship  will  be  new ! 


61 


62  UNCERTAINTY. 


UNCERTAINTY. 

HE  distant  ships  at  anchor  lie 
Far  on  the  hazy  sea ; 

Upon  the  helm  we  see  no  hand, 
Nor  hear  a  whisper  of  command ; 
Our  own  they  seem  to  be. 

Under  a  tender  sky  they  rest, 
With  snowy  sails  all  furled ; 

But  the  mist  may  lift, 

And  the  wind  may  shift, 
And  the  ships  sail  down  the  world  ! 

Oh,  the  sweet  souls  I  truly  love 
Shall  I  ever  truly  know  ? 

In  their  mists  of  thought 

I  am  all  untaught, 
Nor  know  I  what  winds  may  blow ! 


MANY  WA  TERS  CANNOT  QUENCH  LOVE.   63 


"MANY   WATERS   CANNOT  QUENCH 
LOVE." 

:HALL    earthly    Love,    which    so    to 

heaven  belongs 
That   she   may   lay  her   hand    upon 

God's  throne, 

Or  join  the  morning  stars'  immortal  songs, 
Know  all  serenest  heights,  but  heights  alone  ? 

Shall  hers  be  knowledge  of  supremest  joy, 
Fulness  of  Fame  and  Honor  all  be  hers  — 

Perfected  sweetness,  which  may  never  cloy, 
A  rose  unruffled,  though  the  west  wind  stirs ! 

Shall  she  know  only  calm,  with  high  content 
To  live  each  day  in  blaze  of  searching  light  — 

Is  this  alone  for  Love  ?     If  heaven  be  rent 
And  drown  her  dazzled  eyes  in  outer  night : 

If  Honor  die  ;  if  she  is  stripped  of  Fame  ; 
If  that  fair  rose  is  scattered  by  the  rain, 
Broken,    and    stained,    its    beauty    turned    to 

shame  — 

Shall   this   be   hid  from  Love?     Then  Life 
were  vain! 


64  MANY  WA  TERS  CANNO  T  Q  UENCH  L  O  VE. 

Not   only  heights  and  sweetness  Love   must 

know, 

Nor  only  lean  upon  the  throne  of  God  : 
Depths  too  are  hers,  and  sometimes,    bending 

low, 
She  kisses  feet  that  deeps  of  sin  have  trod ; 

Against  the  dust  she  lays  her  stately  head, 
Or  bares  her  heart  to  blasting  storms  and 
rain  ; 

Patient  she  follows  wheresoever  led, 

Nor  recks  of  darkness,  weariness,  and  pain ! 

She  may  not  even  raise  her  eyes  for  tears, 
And   sighs   instead   of   songs    chain    every 

breath ; 

For  lo  !  a  crown  of  lead  and  gold  she  wears, 
Life's   circle,   clasping    the   black   pearl   of 
Death ! 


ON  PRESENTING  A   SCENTLESS  ROSE.  6$ 


ON  PRESENTING  A  SCENTLESS  ROSE 
TO   A   YOUNG  GENTLEWOMAN. 

|LL  thy  soft  leaves,  fair  Rose  !  are  silky 

fine, 
And  cool  — 

But  I  —  poor  fool ! 
Looked  for  hot  passion  in  this  heart  of  thine, 

So  deeply  red  ; 

Instead 
I  did  but  find 

It  set  about  with  thorn, 

And  scentless  quite ! 
The  which  when  I  my  tired  head  would  bind 

With  its  delight, 

Left  me  but  more  forlorn  ! 
Better,  dear  Hypocrite, 

Thou  shouldst  e'en  thy  fair  looks  deny 

To  such  as  I, 
Since  the  sweet  meaning  in  them  writ 

Is  but  a  lie  ! 


66  LOVE  AND  DEATH. 


LOVE   AND   DEATH. 

\  LAS  !  that  men  must  see 

Love,  before  Death  ! 
Else  they  content  might  be 
With  their  short  breath ; 
Aye,  glad,  when  the  pale  sun 
Showed  restless  Day  was  done, 
And  endless  Rest  begun. 

Glad,  when  with  strong,  cool  hand 

Death  clasped  their  own, 
And  with  a  strange  command, 

Hushed  every  moan ; 
Glad  to  have  finished  pain, 
And  labor  wrought  in  vain, 
Blurred  by  Sin's  deepening  stain. 

But  Love's  insistent  voice 

Bids  Self  to  flee  — 
"  Live  that  I  may  rejoice, 

Live  on,  for  me  !  " 
So,  for  Love's  cruel  mind, 
Men  fear  this  Rest  to  find, 
Nor  know  great  Death  is  kind  ! 


LOVE'S  WISDOM.  6/ 


LOVE'S   WISDOM. 

OW  long  I  Ve  loved  thee,  and   how 

well  — 

I  dare  not  tell ! 
Because,  if  thou  shouldst  once  divine 

This  love  of  mine, 
Or  did  but  once  my  tongue  confess 

My  heart's  distress, 
Far,  far  too  plainly  thou  wouldst  see 

My  slavery, 

And,  guessing  what  Love's  wit  should  hide, 
Rest  satisfied  ! 

So,  though  I  worship  at  thy  feet, 

I  '11  be  discreet  — 
And  all  my  love  shall  not  be  told, 

Lest  thou  be  cold, 
And,  knowing  I  was  always  thine, 

Scorn  to  be  mine. 
So  am  I  dumb,  to  rescue  thee 

From  tyranny  — 
And,  by  my  silence,  I  do  prove 

Wisdom  and  Love  J 


68  TWO  LOVERS. 


TWO   LOVERS. 

FIRST    LOVER. 

HOT  mine  to  celebrate 

My  happy  fate, 

In  that  I  love  thee,  O  my  fairest  Sweet  1 
By  sighing  long 

My  joy  to  prove, 
Nor  yet  by  song 

To  swear  my  love, 

The  while  thy  praises  my  glad  lips  repeat ! 
By  lighter  Lover's  tongue 
Must  Love  be  sung, 

That  in  the  heart  its  sacred  throne  doth  take ; 
Sighs  are  not  fit 

Love's  joy  to  show ; 
To  measure  it 

No  words  I  know, 
So  am  I  silent  but  for  Love's  sweet  sake  ! 


TWO  LOVERS.  69 


SECOND   LOVER. 

HAT  I  have  words  wherewith  to  speak 

my  love, 
Doth  never  argue  that  my  love  is 

weak, 

But  rather  prove 
That  I  do  gain  a  grace 
From  her  fair  face, 
Which,  nurturing  gracious  words,  bids  me  to 

speak : 

The  endless  music  that  her  living  makes 
Through  weary  days,  and  every  day,  to  me, 

.  My  song  awakes ; 
But  it  doth  start  my  sighs 
That  her  sweet  eyes 
The  often  baseness  of  my  life  must  see  ! 


70  INCONSTANCY. 


INCONSTANCY. 

]OU  ask  me  does  Love's  flame 
Burn  still  the  same, 

And  if  unchanged  quite, 
Jt  cheers 

The  lengthening  years 
With  soft  and  tender  light ; 
If  it  yet  shows  the  old,  warm,  ruddy  glow  ? 
And  I  must  answer  —  "  No  !  " 

It  is  not  still  the  same, 
Yet  spare  me  blame  ! 

For,  though  to  change  be  wrong, 
It  will 

Be  changing  still, 
To  grow  each  day  more  strong ! 
Can  you  such  sweet,  inconstant  Love  con- 
fess ? 
I  pray  you  answer  —  "  Yes  !  " 


TO  A    VERY  SHY   YOUNG    WOMAN.     71 


LINES   TO   A  VERY   SHY   YOUNG 
WOMAN. 


ALSE  Violet,  I  sought  for  thee, 
That  I  might  know, 
If  thou  didst  bend  so  low, 
Prompted  by  tender  modesty, 
Or  show  ! 

I  will  disclose  thy  subtlety  :  — 

Looks  that  are  shy, 

Thou  know'st  do  win  mine  eye  — 
(This  truth,  fair  maid,  I  challenge  thee, 
Deny  !) 

And  so,  since  it  becometh  thee, 

And  charms  my  heart  — 

Thou  dost  affect  this  part, 
Thus,  all  thy  sweet  simplicity 
Is  Art ! 


72  LOVE'S  COUP  D'£TAT. 


LOVE'S   COUP   D'fiTAT. 

|]O  longer  at  thy  feet, 
My  only  Dear, 

With  honied  words  I  '11  woo  thee ! 
Nor  ever  fear 

That  with  thy  praises  sweet, 
I  will  again  pursue  thee  , 

"  Soft  stars  of  night,"  thine  eyes 
Did  folly  call, 

To  make  thee  smile  upon  me. 
Love's  favor  small ! 
Instead,  thou  didst  chastise 

With  frowns,  and  yet  more  shun  me. 

So,  now 't  is  time  to  try, 
Truth  to  thy  mind  : 

Thou  seest  not  that  I  love  thee  ? 
Then  art  thou  blind  ! 
'T  is  sin  to  say  thine  eye 

Is  like  a  star  above  thee. 

"  Thy  lips  were  made  to  kiss," 
Long  time  I  said, 


LOVE'S  COUP  HE  TAT.  73 

Though  thou  'st  with  scorn  denied  me 
To  taste  their  red  — 
Know  that  they  speak  amiss 

When  they  do  thus  deride  me. 

"  The  dimple  in  thy  chin 
For  Love  was  made  ?  " 

Alas,  I  did  not  know  thee. 
That  trap  was  laid 
To  catch  my  heart  within, 

As  I  —  a  fool  —  did  show  thee. 

"  Thine  heart  was  sweet  and  true," 
Once  wert  thou  told. 

Now,  Lady,  prithee  hear  me : 
Thine  heart  is  cold  ! 
(Such  words  are  surely  new, 

Truth,  haply,  may  endear  me.) 

One  thing  I  cannot  say,  — 
Loving  sweet  Truth,  — 

Though  fain  I  would  abuse  thee 
With  words  of  ruth  — 
That  there  can  dawn  a  day 

My  heart  will  cease  to  choose  thee  ! 


74 


SENT  WITH  A  ROSE. 


SENT  WITH  A  ROSE,   TO   A  YOUNG 
LADY. 

EEP  in  a  Rose's  glowing  heart 

I  dropped  a  single  kiss, 
And  then  I  bade  it  quick  depart, 
And  tell  my  Lady  this  : 

"  The  love  thy  Lover  tried  to  send 
Overflows  my  fragrant  bowl, 

But  my  soft  leaves  would  break  and  bend, 
Should  he  send  half  the  whole !  " 


ON  BEING  REPROACHED  BY  MY  LOVE- 


ON  BEING  REPROACHED  BY  MY 
LOVE  FOR  COLDNESS. 

BAREST,  I  cannot  say  "  I  love  but 

thee," 

Nor  yet  deny 
My  roving  eye 
Does  other  beauty  see  ! 

But  from  one  cause  do  these  shortcomings 
spring : 

So  fair  thou  art 

My  captive  heart 
Sees  thee  in  everything  : 

So,  why  I  do  not  love  but  thee  is  plain, 

The  whole  world  's  dear 

While  thou  art  here,  — 
While  thee  it  does  contain  ! 

And  why  to  beauty  I  'm  not  blind  is  clear  : 

On  every  face 

Some  of  thy  grace 
To  my  eye  doth  appear. 


76   ON  BEING  REPROACHED  BY  MY  LOVE. 

But  though  sweet  nothings,  true,  I  cannot  say, 

Yet  thee  I  love 

My  life  above, 
So  love  me,  dear,  I  pray ! 


VERSES.  77 


VERSES. 

ANSY  in  a  purple  dress 

Would  her  loving  thought  confess ; 

But,  alas,  no  word  has  she 
Sweet  enough  to  speak  to  thee  ! 
Let  her  silence  then  but  show 
Depth  of  love  you  do  not  know. 


THE   Love    that    hides,    too    modest    far   to 

speak  — 
Is   sometimes   twice   as   strong,   for    seeming 

weak : 

Hear  then,  what  these  my  pansies  say  to  you  — 
"  Your  Lover,  dear,  is  shy,  but  always  true  !  " 


of  JLife 


LIFE. 

Y  one  great   Heart,   the   Universe  is 

stirred : 
By  Its  strong  pulse,  stars  climb  the 

darkening  blue ; 
It  throbs  in  each  fresh   sunset's   changing 

hue, 

And  thrills  through  low  sweet  song  of  every 
bird: 

By  It,  the  plunging  blood  reds  all  men's  veins  j 
Joy  feels  that  Heart  against  his  rapturous 

own, 
And  on   It,    Sorrow  breathes   her  sharpest 

groan  ; 

It  bounds   through   gladnesses  .  and    deepest 
pains. 

Passionless  beating  through  all  Time  and  Space, 
Relentless,  calm,  majestic  in  Its  march, 
Alike,  though  Nature  shake  heaven's  endless 

arch, 

Or  man's  heart  break,  because  of  some  dead 
face! 


82  LIFE. 

'T  is  felt  in  sunshine  greening  the  soft  sod, 
In  children's  smiling,  as  in  mother's  tears  ; 
And,  for  strange  comfort,  through  the  aching 

years, 

Men's  hungry  souls   have   named    that  great 
Heart,  God  I 


DEATH.  83 


DEATH. 

NTO  the  land  that  no  man  knows, 
Into  the  darkness   that   may  mean 

light, 
Shaken  with  doubt  the  poor  Soul  goes, 

Hoping  the  blindness  of  Death  brings  sight ; 

Out  of  a  mystery  it  grew, 

And  life  was  a  riddle  hard  to  read ; 
Can  Death  show  joy  it  never  knew, 

Or  to  full  knowledge  gently  lead  ? 

That  awful  Face  may  turn  and  smile, 
When  on  Its  lips  our  own  we  lay  — 

Saying,  "  Trust  me  a  little  while, 

Fear  not  the  Night  that  brings  the  Day !  " 


84  DOUBT. 


DOUBT. 

DISTANT  Christ,  the  crowded,  dark- 
ening years 
Drift  slow  between  thy  gracious  face 

and  me : 

My  hungry  heart  leans  back  to  look  for  thee, 
But  finds  the  way  set  thick  with  doubts  and 
fears. 

My  groping  hands  would  touch  thy  garment's 

hem, 

Would  find  some  token  thou  art  walking  near ; 
Instead,    they  clasp    but    empty    darkness 

drear, 
And  no  diviner  hands  reach  out  to  them. 

Sometimes  my  listening  soul,  with  bated  breath, 
Stands  still  to  catch  a  footfall  by  my  side, 
Lest,  haply,  my  earth-blinded  eyes  but  hide 

Thy  stately  figure,  leading  Life  and  Death  ; 

My  straining  eyes,  O  Christ,  but  long  to  mark 
A  shadow  of  thy  presence,  dim  and  sweet, 


DOUBT.  85 

Or  far-off  light  to  guide  my  wandering  feet, 
Or  hope  for  hands  prayer-beating  'gainst  the 
dark. 

O  Thou !  unseen  by  me,  that  like  a  child 
Tries  in  the  night  to  find  its  mother's  heart, 
And  weeping  wanders  only  more  apart, 

Not  knowing  in  the  darkness  that  she  smiled  — 

Thou,  all  unseen,  dost  hear  my  tired  cry, 
As  I,  in  darkness  of  a  half  belief, 
Grope  for  thy  heart,  in  love  and  doubt  and 
grief : 

O  Lord  !  speak  soon  to  me  —  "  Lo,  here  am  I !  " 


86  AS  ONE    WHO    WATCHETH. 


AS  ONE  WHO  WATCHETH   FOR  THE 
MORNING. 

EAN  out  against  the  dark  with  vague 

surmise  ; 
Shadows  weigh  down  the  world,  and 

heavy  night 

Gives  no  dim  promise  of  a  heavenly  light, 
Yet  turn,  O  Soul !  towards  the  East  thine  eyes  : 

Nor  say  that  Day  has  come  when  faint  lights 

creep 

From  far-off,  icy-pointed  stars  ;  nor  dream 
To  find  thy  cheer  in  flickering  tapers  gleam, 
Nor  seek  the  sad  forgetfulness  of  sleep. 

But  watch — though    darkness    beat    against 

thine  eyes, 

Open  thy  casements  wide  —  be  just  to  mark 
The  faintest  flush  that  lights  the  awful  dark  ; 
O  Soul,  look  ever  towards  the  Eastern  skies  1 


WHEN  LOVE  AND  SORROW  MEET.     8/ 


WHEN   LOVE  AND   SORROW   MEET. 

IM  in  the  distance,  and  scarce  recog- 
nized 

By  frighted  Love's  upraised,  appeal- 
ing eyes, 
Veiled  by  gray  tears,  with  bended  head  and 

dumb, 

Down  through  the  narrowing  weeks  does  Sor- 
row come,  — 

Coming  too  surely,  with  unfaltering  feet 
To  that  appointed  day  they  two  shall  meet . 

In  vain,  in  vain,  poor  Love,  for  thee  to  stay 
The  hurrying  days  that  push  thee  on  thy  way; 
In  vain  for  thee  to  leave  thine  onward  track, 
Or  thy  weak  hands  to  beat  strong  Sorrow  back  ; 
In  vain  to  cry,  "  Oh,  check  thine  awful  pace  ;" 
Still  on  she  comes  with  veiled  and  hidden  face : 

But   listen,    Love,   although    she    leads   white 

Death  — 
(Oh,    listen,    Love,    and   check    that    sobbing 

breath  !) 

Beneath  her  veil  of  closely  falling  tears, 
Is  not  the  face  thy  aching  heart  most  fears  — 


88      WHEN  LOVE  AND  SORROW  MEET. 

It  is  not  bitter,  Love,  with  frozen  pain  ; 
It  is  not  cruel,  though  thou  plead  in  vain  ! 

On  that  black  day  when  thou  and  she  shalt 

meet, 
Her   dreaded  voice   will    whisper,    clear   and 

sweet, 
"  Dear  Love,  though  thou  must  henceforth  walk 

with  me, 
My  hand  shall  make  all  small  griefs  naught  to 

thee ; 

On  my  true  heart  with  calmness  thou  shalt  bear 
All  that  Life  brings  to  thee  of  daily  care ; 

"  But  oh,  sweet  Love  !  grant  me   this  gift   of 

grace  — 
Push  back,  dear  Love,  the  veil  that  hides  my 

face, 

And  thou  shalt  read  within  my  tender  eyes 
Promise  of  peace,  that  now  thy  fear  denies : 
Thy  Treasure,  Love,  thy  life's  sweet  joy  divine, 
Is  now,  henceforward,  to  be  truly  thine. 

"  Never  so  truly  thine,  O  Love,  before  — 
Thine,  only  thine,  and  thine  forevermore  ! 
Death  guards  thy  Treasure  till  that  sure,  sweet 

day, 

To  which  I  '11  lead  thee,  all  the  weary  way, 
When  thou  shait  enter,  too,  enduring  Rest, 
And  both  be  cradled  on  Death's  gentle  breast ! " 


A   CHILD'S  CRAVE. 


ON  A  CHILD'S  GRAVE  IN  THE   DOR- 
CHESTER BURYING-GROUND. 

HUNDRED  years  of  light  and  shade, 
And  changing  hopes  and  fears, 

Have   drifted   since   this    grave   was 

made, 
And  seen  through  mists  of  tears ; 

So  small  a  grave,  and  dim  with  moss, 

And  sunk  in  waving  grass, 
But  mother's  heart  that 's  sore  with  loss, 

Would  note  it,  should  she  pass. 

A  hundred  years  ago  he  died, 

His  very  name  is  not  — 
The  sorrow  's  buried,  tears  are  dried, 

His  life  and  death  's  forgot. 

Can  Love  her  sacred  grief  forget  ? 

Must  Love  and  Grief  thus  die  ? 
Nay,  changed  to  joy  the  sharp  regret, 

And  Love  is  Life,  on  high ! 
Oh  worthier  Grief  that  grief  should  die 

In  endless  Life  and  Jby,  on  high  ! 


90  EASTER  MUSIC. 


EASTER   MUSIC. 

JONQUILS. 

"LOW,    golden    trumpets,    sweet    and 

clear, 

Blow  soft  upon  the  perfumed  air  ; 
Bid  the  sad  earth  to  join  your  song, 
"  To  Christ  does  victory  belong  /" 

Oh,  let  the  winds  your  message  bear 

To  every  heart  of  grief  and  care  ; 

Sound  through  the  world  the  joyful  lay, 
"  Our  Christ  has  conquered  Death  to-day  !  " 

On  cloudy  wings  let  glad  words  fly 
Through  the  soft  blue  of  echoing  sky  : 
Ring  out,  O  trumpets,  sweet  and  clear, 
"  Through  Death  immortal  Life  is  here  !  " 


CHILD  OF  THE  SISTINE  MADONNA.   9! 


TO  THE  CHILD   OF   THE   SISTINE 
MADONNA. 


all  the  mists  of  years, 
One  smiling  baby  face 
Forever  young  appears, 
Aglow  with  childish  grace  ! 

O  questioning  sweet  eyes, 

O  head  all  golden  brown, 
Above  thee  softly  lies 

The  shadow  of  a  crown  ! 


is  urn      all 


Counsellor. 


—    N 

w     .         u 


•pr.p  nf  Ppfin 
lU/v  v    I  OMV( 


92        THE  MESSAGE   OF  THE  LILIES. 


THE  MESSAGE  OF  THE  LILIES. 

QUICKENING  life  of  Easter  day, 

O  burst  of  snowy  bloom  : 
"  The  Lord  has  risen,"  Lilies  say, 
In  gush  of  sweet  perfume  ! 

"  Oh,  lift  your  heads  and  face  the  sky, 
Oh,  watch  the  brightening  dawn  ; 

For  Light,  and  Life,  and  Hope  are  nigh, 
And  Death's  dark  night  has  gone ! 

"  Up  !  up  !  to  the  soft  shining  blue, 

The  freshening  wind  and  sun  ; 
All  Nature  thrills,  all  life  is  new, 

Christ's  victory  is  won  !  " 

"  Rise,  Lord,  within  our  hearts,"  we  cry, 
Through  strange,  bright  mists  of  tears  ; 

"  Oh,  show  us  'neath  this  Easter  sky 
Love's  own  immortal  years !  " 


HYMN.  93 


HYMN. 

PATIENT  Christ !  when  long  ago 

O'er  old  Judea's  rugged  hills 
Thy  willing  feet  went  to  and  fro, 
To  find  and  comfort  human  ills  — 
Did  once  thy  tender,  earnest  eyes, 
Look  down  the  solemn  centuries, 
And  see  the  smallness  of  our  lives  ? 

Souls  struggling  for  the  victory, 

And  martyrs,  finding  death  was  gain, 
Souls  turning  from  the  Truth  and  Thee, 
And  falling  deep  in  sin  and  pain  — 

Great   heights    and    depths   were    surely 

seen, 

But  oh  !  the  dreary  waste  between  — 
Small  lives,  not  base  perhaps,  but  mean  : 

Their  selfish  efforts  for  the  right, 

Or  cowardice  that  keeps  from  sin  — 
Content  to  only  see  the  height 
That  nobler  souls  will  toil  to  win  ! 

Oh,  shame,  to  think  thine  eyes  should  see 
The  souls  contented  just  to  be  — 
The  lives  too  small  to  take  in  Thee. 


94  HYMN. 

Lord,  let  this  thought  awake  our  shame, 
That  blessed  shame  that  stings  to  life, 
Rouse  us  to  live  for  thy  dear  name, 
Arm  us  with  courage  for  the  strife. 
O  Christ !  be  patient  with  us  still ; 
Dear  Christ !  remember  Calvary's  hill  — • 
Our  little  lives  with  purpose  fill !        L-«u<7  _ 


TO  E.    W.    W.  95 


TO  E.  W.  W. 

HERE  is  a  voice  that  answers  in  the 

soul 
When  music   speaks  unto  the   outer 

ear; 

The  half  of  us  that  longs  to  be  the  whole, 
The  Infinite  in  mercy  drawing  near ; 

Strange  gladness  that  is  yet  a  subtile  pain 
Holds  down  the   senses,  checks   the   hurried 

breath  ; 

Thought  swoons  ;  the  human  struggles  to  attain 
That  harmony  of  silence  we  call  death  1 


for 

9 


THE  BIRD   AND  THE  BUTTERFLY. 


FOR   CARRIE. 


H ROUGH  the  sunny  summer  sky, 
Came  a  sailing  Butterfly : 


Wings  that  seemed  with  jewels  set. 
Gleams  of  rose  and  violet ; 

Bars  of  black  in  velvet  fold 
Bright  with  glints  of  dusky  gold  ; 

Dancing  through  the  sweet  sunshine, 
Glad  with  clover's  ruddy  wine  ! 

Stopping  just  to  gayly  sip 
The  wild  pansy's  purple  lip, 

Or  to  softly  swing  and  rest 
On  an  apple-blossom's  breast ; 

Or  to  steal  the  fluffy  gold 
That  the  buttercups  do  hold, 


100     THE  BIRD  AND    THE  BUTTERFLY. 

Or  to  watch  the  blossoming  grass 
Ripple,  when  the  light  winds  pass  ! 

But,  still  sailing  on  and  on, 

Till  she  finds  the  sunshine  gone  ; 

Frightened  then  by  fading  light, 
And  the  softly  gathering  Night, 

She  would  chase  the  flying  Day, 
So  she  stops  to  ask  the  way  — 

Lights  upon  a  swinging  nest, 

"  Right  or  left  ?  which  way  is  West  ?  " 

And  a  young  Bird  answers  low  — 
"  On  —  towards  the  sunset's  glow ! 

"  But  just  say,  before  you  fly, 
Is  it  beautiful  —  the  sky  ? 

"  Shall  I  see  it,  do  you  know  ? 
Tell  me  that,  before  you  go  !  " 

So,  ere  her  bright  wings  she  spread, 
This  is  what  she  softly  said : 

"  Yes,  oh  yes  !  on  some  glad  dawn, 
When  Night's  stars  are  dimmed  and  gone, 


THE  BIRD   AND    THE  BUTTERFLY,     IQI 

"  Look  straight  up  into  the  sky, 

Fearless  spread  your  wings  —  then,  FLY  !  " 

So  she  fluttered  from  the  nest, 
Seeking  still  the  yellow  West ! 


102       WHILE  SHEPHERDS   WATCHED. 


"WHILE  SHEPHERDS  WATCHED 
THEIR  FLOCKS  BY  NIGHT." 


IKE  small  curled  feathers,  white  and 

soft, 
The  little  clouds  went  by, 


Across  the  moon,  and  past  the  stars, 

And  down  the  western  sky  : 
In  upland  pastures,  where  the  grass 

With  frosted  dew  was  white, 
Like  snowy  clouds  the  young  sheep  lay, 

That  first,  best  Christmas  night. 

The  shepherds  slept;  and,  glimmering  faint, 

With  twist  of  thin,  blue  smoke, 
Only  their  fire's  crackling  flames 

The  tender  silence  broke  — 
Save  when  a  young  lamb  raised  his  head, 

Or,  when  the  night  wind  blew, 
A  nesting  bird  would  softly  stir, 

Where  dusky  olives  grew  — 

With  finger  on  her  solemn  lip, 
Night  hushed  the  shadowy  earth, 

And  only  stars  and  angels  saw 
The  little  Saviour's  birth  ; 


WHILE  SHEPHERDS   WATCHED.        103 

Then  came  such  flash  of  silver  light 

Across  the  bending  skies, 
The  wondering  shepherds  woke,  and  hid 

Their  frightened,  dazzled  eyes  ! 

And  all  their  gentle  sleepy  flock 

Looked  up,  then  slept  again, 
Nor  knew  the  light  that  dimmed  the  stars 

Brought  endless  Peace  to  men  — 
Nor  even  heard  the  gracious  words 

That  down  the  ages  ring  — 
"  The  Christ  is  born  !  the  Lord -has  come, 

Good-will  on  earth  to  bring  !  " 

Then  o'er  the  moonlit,  misty  fields, 

Dumb  with  the  world's  great  joy, 
The  shepherds  sought  the  white-walled  town, 

Where  lay  the  baby  boy  — 
And  oh,  the  gladness  of  the  world, 

The  glory  of  the  skies, 
Because  the  longed-for  Christ  looked  up 

In  Mary's  happy  eyes  ! 


104  SOSSY  AND    THE  DAISY. 


BOSSY  AND  THE  DAISY. 

IGHT  up  into  Bossy's  eyes, 

Looked  the  Daisy,  boldly, 
But,  alas  !  to  his  surprise, 
Bossy  ate  him,  coldly. 

Listen  !  Daisies  in  the  fields, 

Hide  away  from  Bossy ! 
Daisies  make  the  milk  she  yields, 

And  her  coat  grow  glossy. 

So,  each  day,  she  tries  to  find 

Daisies  nodding  sweetly, 
And  although  it 's  most  unkind, 

Bites  their  heads  off,  neatly ! 


THE  DANCE   OF  THE  FAIRIES.       IO5 


THE  DANCE  OF  THE  FAIRIES. 

N  my  garden,  in  the  midnight, 
In  the  misty  shining  moonlight, 

Stand  the  lilies,  swaying,  bending^ 
Half  afraid  that  they  are  lending, 
By  their  sweet  looks  and  sedate, 
Countenance  to  hours  so  late. 
(Yet  they  give  a  sidelong  glance, 
At  the  Fairies'  airy  dance !) 

O'er  the  grass, 

Hand  in  hand, 
Kiss  and  pass, 

Fairy  Band  — 

Round  about 

With  the  breeze, 
In  and  out 

'Neath  the  trees ! 

Flow'r  bells  ring, 

With  soft  chime, 
Fairies  sing, 

Keeping  time  — 


IO6      THE  DANCE   OF  THE  FAIRIES. 

On  they  go, 

Stepping  soft, 
Laughing  low, 

Kissing  oft. 

Steps  so  light 

Scarcely  make 
Dew-drops  bright 

Gleam  and  shake  ! 

Yet  my  stately  lilies  wear 
Such  a  disapproving  air, 

Looking  down  with  sweet  heads  bent 

On  the  Fairy  Parliament, 
Trusting  their  white  dignity 
Flippant  Fays  may  chance  to  see. 

(Yet  I  think,  from  their  shy  glance, 

They  would  like  to  join  the  dance  !) 


THE  FAIRIES'  SHOPPING.  IO/ 


THE  FAIRIES'   SHOPPING. 


HERE  do  you  think  the  Fairies  go 
To  buy  their  blankets  ere  the  snow  ? 


When  Autumn  comes,  with  frosty  days, 
The  sorry  shivering  little  Fays 

Begin  to  think  it 's  time  to  creep 
Down  to  their  caves  for  Winter  sleep. 

But  first  they  come  from  far  and  near 
To  buy,  where  shops  are  not  too  dear, 

(The  wind  and  frost  bring  prices  down, 
So  Fall 's  their  time  to  come  to  town  !) 

Where  on  the  hill-side  rough  and  steep 
Browse  all  day  long  the  cows  and  sheep, 

The  mullein's  yellow  candles  burn 
Over  the  heads  of  dry  sweet  fern  : 

All  summer  long  the  mullein  weaves 
His  soft  and  thick  and  woolly  leaves. 


IO8  THE  FAIRIES'  SHOPPING. 

Warmer  blankets  were  never  seen 

Than  these  broad  leaves  of  fuzzy  green  — 

(The  cost  of  each  is  but  a  shekel 
Made  from  the  gold  of  honeysuckle  !) 

To  buy  their  sheets  and  fine  white  lace 
(With  which  to  trim  a  pillow-case), 

They  only  have  to  go  next  door, 

Where  stands  a  sleek  brown  spider's  store, 

And  there  they  find  the  misty  threads 
Ready  to  cut  into  sheets  and  spreads  ; 

Then  for  a  pillow,  pluck  with  care 
Some  soft-winged  seeds  as  light  as  air ; 

Just  what  they  want  the  thistle  brings, 
But  thistles  are  such  surly  things  — 

And  so,  though  it  is  somewhat  high, 
The  clematis  the  Fairies  buy. 

The  only  bedsteads  that  they  need 
Are  silky  pods  of  ripe  milk-weed, 

With  hangings  of  the  dearest  things  — 
Autumn  leaves,  or  butterflies'  wings  ! 


THE  FAIRIES'   SHOPPING. 

And  dandelions'  fuzzy  heads 

They  use  to  stuff  their  feather  beds ; 

And  yellow  snapdragons  supply 
The  nightcaps  that  the  Fairies  buy, 

To  which  some  blades  of  grass  they  pin, 
And  tie  them  'neath  each  little  chin. 


Then,  shopping  done,  the  Fairies  cry, 
"  Our  Summer  's  gone  !  oh  sweet,  good-bye  !  " 

And  sadly  to  their  caves  they  go, 
To  hide  away  from  Winter's  snow  — 

And  then,  though  winds  and  storms  may  beat, 
The  Fairies'  sleep  is  warm  and  sweet  1 


no 


THE  BUTTERCUP. 


THE  BUTTERCUP. 

H  bravely  she  holds  up, 
To  catch  the  sun  and  dew, 
And  sometimes  raindrops, 
Her  tiny  golden  cup. 

She  needs  the  clouds  and  rain, 
To  make  her  brightest  flowers, 
For  her  life,  just  as  ours, 

Can  grow  because  of  pain  ! 


NIGHT.  1 1 1 


NIGHT. 

HE  tender  Night,  in  sable  dress, 
Leans  o'er  the  earth,  intent  to  bless  ; 


Like  a  round  ball  of  misty  light 

Her  lantern  moon  glows  soft  and  bright ; 

The  yellow  stars  that  wink  and  yawn 
Are  her  small  candles  till  the  dawn  : 

Thus  lighted,  round  the  world  she  goes, 
To  heal  with  sleep  its  sharpest  woes ! 

The  tears  Day  brought,  Night  gently  dries, 
With  her  soft  touch  on  weary  eyes  — 

In  mists  of  dreams  each  tired  brain 
Forgets  its  trouble  or  its  pain  — 

To  Age  she  brings  back  youth  and  joy, 
The  gray-haired  man  becomes  a  boy  ! 

Fair  visions  of  the  Youth  she  shows 
Of  all  the  Future  may  disclose  : 


112  NIGHT. 

On  Childhood's  lips  she  leaves  a  kiss  ; 
Enough  for  him  is  present  bliss  ! 

But,  for  this  goodness  which  she  shows, 
She  wills  that  every  eye  must  close  ; 

For  all  too  shy  is  modest  Night 
To  do  such  kindness  in  our  sight  1 


POLLY. 


POLLY. 

HE  tufted  grass  is  bright  with  dew 
That  damps  her  gown  and  wets  her 

shoe, 

As  through  it  Polly  gayly  trips 
With  ruddy  cheeks  and  smiling  lips  ! 
By  Love  and  Duty  both  she 's  led 
When  hast'ning  to  the  milking-shed  — 
The  patient  cows  with  gentle  eyes 
Will  show  no  grave  or  stern  surprise, 
If,  ere  her  work  she  does  begin 
Her  sweetheart  Jem  a  kiss  shall  win  ! 


V 


114  THE    WAITS. 


THE  WAITS. 

T  the  break  of  Christmas  Day, 

Through  the  frosty  starlight  ringing, 
Faint  and  sweet  and  far  away, 
Comes  the  sound  of  children,  singing, 
Chanting,  singing, 
"  Cease  to  mourn, 
For  Christ  is  born, 
Peace  and  joy  to  all  men  bringing  !  " 

Careless  that  the  chill  winds  blow, 

Growing  stronger,  sweeter,  clearer, 
Noiseless  footfalls  in  the  snow 
Bring  the  happy  voices  nearer ; 
Hear  them  singing, 
"  Winter 's  drear, 
But  Christ  is  here, 
Mirth  and  gladness  with  Him  bringing  !" 

"  Merry  Christmas  !  "  hear  them  say, 

As  the  East  is  growing  lighter ; 
"  May  the  joy  of  Christmas  Day 

Make  your  whole  year  gladder,  brighter  1 " 
Join  their  singing, 
"70  each  home 
Our  Christ  has  come, 
All  Love's  treasures  with  Him  bringing  !  " 


DATE  DUE 

M  1 

2  1972 

JUN  1  2 

1^727 

CAYLORD 

PRINTED  IN  U.S    A 

